


Dangerous

by RealityGlitch



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Culture, Angst, Complicated Relationships, Conflict, Desire, Drama, Dreams, Emotions, Ethics, FWUCollections, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Ideology, M/M, Mecha, Minor Violence, Morality, Politics, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Present Tense, Revolution, Sexual Content, Sexual Fantasy, Sexuality, Smut, Socialism, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Subjective Narration, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Values, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-27
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2019-07-18 10:31:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16116569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RealityGlitch/pseuds/RealityGlitch
Summary: Megatron measures his truths.---What happens when a great, noble cause, after many eons of losses and sacrifices, ends up to be pursued by a small group of survivors, who likely still believe, or want to believe?Megatron tries not to lie to himself, but he sees through his own frustration how great things mash up with little things, and their simple desires, needs, secret dreams and lurking disappointments stand in contrast with the internal powerstruggles and the strong drive to win the war, no matter what. He would like to, but he doesn't really manage to deal with the stifling relations in the small group of officers and... friends(?) on board of Nemesis.Is the cause really lost?Is the tiny bit of warmth in his spark a dangerous weakness?





	Dangerous

* * *

  
Metal footsteps. Heavy rhythm. Ringing against the walls of a metal corridor. Slow. One… Two… One… Two…

His shadows move silently behind him, out of sight but not out of perception. They stick to the corners, they glue to the walls, they whisper their prayers, they cast shade over night. The metal ringing of the floor vibrates in the air with each step, and each movement of his heavy armour leaves a trace in the time that floats around him in waves.

There were supposed to be fields of crystal, rivers of clarity, houses of glass. Mines throbbing with energon, roads, factories, hospitals and universities. Life shared among everyone in abundance. Open borders. Liberty, equality, fraternity... They, the children of the revolution, they were supposed to become a society, no divisions, no classes, no Primes and no empties, no nobility and no hunger…

Where has it gone? Diluted, dissolved in the air and acid, then burned down to the ground. Necessity followed necessity, rolling heads and burning bridges were followed by debris and silence.

Is that all? Is that the end of the road? He doesn’t want to believe it. The cause is still alive. It is burning in his spark, it is pulsing in his veins.

The door opens with a hiss. He straightens up automatically before even the lights of the Nemesis bridge flash into his eyes and the scared optics of his crew swipe him with a tired gaze. Ah, what is that the hell again? An unnerving snake of anger tightens around his chest and itches his fists to clench again even stronger. They are not hungry and they are not exhausted. What more do they want? His optic ridge trickles slightly at the thought… Don’t they have everything already? Times are hard. Times are desperate… _wanting_ is forbidden.

_So you achieved everything. You are on the top of the top and there is nothing higher. You are hungry for more but there is nothing more. There are no stars above you, just the glaring black void. Everything is yours, what do you want more?_

_Empty…_

_Angry, you’ve burnt your land and exploited your mountains of food and life. Now you stand in debris and breathe in the ashes. No one answers your call..._

_Equal among the equals, a fighter of the fighters, a burning flame, an eternal power, an untamed element breeding on willful delusion. An honest belief. Foundations of faith and ambition. A higher purpose..._

He ignores the audience and hears the almost inaudible collective vent of relief when no one is called out and they can return to their duties.

Do they still admire him and believe in him? He swipes them with his gaze catching a glimpse of Soundwave’s glossy mask.

_Megatron, you are hungry. Too hungry. What is that you want?_

_You find consolation in the arms of those who stab you in the back, you play with their servility and play the few remaining cards in your game of poker. Yes, some still love you but why can't you be grateful? Why would you respect them if you despise yourself? For the losses, for the odds, for the bad choices, for the weakness… You still feel great but you are not lying to yourself. You have lost. You never gave up but the game is over. You will never give up, but honestly, nobody cares…_

_Why do you think they are disgusting if they still admire you…?_

Softness… is not allowed. But it is there inside. A soft kiss on Starscream’s neck left _accidently_ in the middle of the night, when they sleep together, tight. It will be avenged with rough treatment, humiliation and dirty fights in the daylight. He wishes the SIC never realized the softness… Has he recognized it in fact? Was he asleep or awake pretending he recharged and was unconscious when that softness happened....

He can not even punish Starscream for all the attempts at his life… He loves them in fact - the power struggles… make him feel alive. They put things into order, put them into place... With an almost intimate engagement. All the shouting and the fighting and the humiliating ends every time the same way: with one sitting on top of the other in the dark confines of Starscream's or Megatron’s chambers. The warlord exerts his ownership of his favourite but utterly annoying SIC, and the seeker teases his good old boss to the level of madness, hot desire, enjoying his actual hidden power never recognized by the big grey mech who's always thought that he were the one in charge.

Their hips move both back and forward, mechanics interconnected, spikes and valves in a tight, pressured movement. Together. One pushed deep into the other, pressed inside to the limit defined by pain, protoflesh convulsing inside them, burning bodies arching and tensing, metal skin rubbing against each other, claws piercing into one-another's armour seams. Tough but sweet in a way, greasy and heated. Pulsing, one spike inside, the other between them, unconciliated, undone, unfulfilled, bound sooner or later to discharge its load into the emptiness between them… or in the moments of grace - to the leader’s mouth when he pleases so, or to the one of the seeker, if the great warlord sees fit.

Metal steps echo in the empty corridor. One... two... one... two… Shadows stick to the walls and ghosts lurk in the corners.

There was supposed to be love and peace… Can a warrior bring peace? Can a strongman be an ambassador of gentleness? Can the lonely and the hungry feed others and give them love?

Megatron knows it all and his fingers clench into fists - unrequested.

_Are you a loser already?_

It sounds, it echoes in his head. Knives behind his back, whispers creeping along the walls, ears behind the door, eyes staring from the ceiling, everybody knows.

 _Loser_...

He needs more, to prove them all wrong. He needs all the last relics of their past to save the masterplan. To save his face. To save the dream.

And no one will stop him.

Megatron's hand is holding the seeker by the neck. He forgets himself and he kisses the SIC's lips with his toothy mouth, sometimes even gently, lovingly, and then roughly and brutally sucking inside him, anytime when the power reminds him of its dues… _don't let him think you got feelings_. _He will abuse it…_

And then late at night, recharging together exhausted, when Starscream is deep asleep, Megatron touches gently the hypersensitive tips of his lover's wings and enjoys the thrill it gives to the sleeping seeker. He rubs his claw really gently along Starscream's thin waist and between his legs seeking the hiding place of the spike to feel how it swells and hardens locked up under the armour plating, pressed down, impossible to be relieved and giving his officer sweet dreams and moaning sounds of pleasure which later will chase them both during the day filled with spiteful treachery and unforgiving conflict.

He chooses to believe that the seeker next to him sleeps tight… But a few times Starscream wakes up and he turns around venting fast with hot air. He almost presses Megatron to the wall, violently, with mad eyes filled with unfulfilled desire, with a strength unexpected in such a light and lithe frame, he finds the older mech's valve and thrusts himself inside in intensive, violent movements. Megatron cannot protest, he does not even want to. He pretends he’s been asleep too and has been taken by surprise, but his own hardness and the swollen tissues reveal him, same as the speed in which he comes with a deep moan of his lion-like voice, with his spike still locked up inside his own armour as was the seeker’s one just a while ago. He goes off inside his own closed chassis, and it hurts in a very special, teasing and tense way.

These are the times when the seeker possesses him the most and all hypocrisy is wiped out with the bodily fluids and intimate greasings.

Starscream’s eyes look straight into the optics of his leader, long and deep, right into his core. In an impulsive reaction, Megatron turns his face away just to hear:

“Are you thinking of that bitch Soundwave when you are with me? Would you like him to have my face?”...

The warlord slaps his SIC remorselessly on the cheek almost smashing his head into the wall. But then he kisses him deeply, despite the plain danger that comes along with kissing and the intimacy it entails… And they both sync in accord many more times this night, until they are exhausted so much that they cannot even vent and their internals are sore and painful from intense friction. They interface both gently and brutally as if all curtains have fallen and the exploding desire broke the real silence between them, the type of silence that is filled with excessive talking, words that mean nothing, just useless blabber and meaningless chatter… Now, it releases the condensed and silent truths, much too complex to be put in words. The truths that could only show in the darkness and the heat of their bodies.

 _You want too much, Megatron. This will never happen… You are greedy…_.

How much is the society prepared to breach its own norms and regulations? There is no good and evil, there is just the perception of it. What falls in the norm and what falls outside... What is strong and what is weak... Acceptance and non acceptance of deeds, of facts, of the blunt, plain reality. Acts in themselves are neutral by definition. They just *are*. It's only how others see it that gives them values and shades. There is no objective morality and truth is based on the level of comprehension and interpretation. It is different for everyone. Wisdom is what tells the truths apart...

Long, much too long, Megatron looks with the inner eyes of his mind at the lithe back of the ultimately attractive slender and way too awkward body of his emotionless communications officer. Soundwave has no face… or Megatron has never seen it. If it is hidden somewhere there inside... it would have been just so easy to rip the mask off the drone-like long-winged ice-cold mech. The warlord is so much stronger than anybody else, what is that makes him so weak? What is that prevents him to even try…?

Soundwave… is a wild but tamed beast, his most loyal dog… that does not ever bark. A dog that barely looks at his victim when he bites. Or maybe he is not a dog at all. Maybe he is a panther. Like that forsaken symbiont of his, Ravage. A damn freak… Or a raven, like the other one, Laserbeak, as loyal and as silent... Cats and bats do not speak. They bite and they use sound to fight.

Megatron squeezes his eyes shut up to the verge of pain. His tongue drills deeper into Starscream’s mouth and then, all at once, to the SIC’s surprise, he rips it out from between the seeker’s lips and moves downwards gripping the handsome hips of his deputy in a strong hold, and, almost biting into the seeker’s hard swollen spike, he sucks on it, as intensely as it is sudden and unexpected. Throat deep. He moans and groans hoarsely, while the seeker bends towards him and grabs his master's head with his clawy fingers squeaking silently in ultimate pleasure and lust. The world goes round again and Megatron chokes suffocated with Starscream’s fluids drowning his ventilation systems. The seeker finally lets the firm grip go. Arghhhh…

Megatron never repeats the mistake. He never turns the head away again in the depth of night, he looks deep into Starscream’s eyes, their lights intertwine. He looks boldly, like as if a whole herd of Vehicons was watching their bedside wrestling endeavours. He forces the SIC to blink first, to look away, to finish off this stifling duel. Looking in the eyes is risky, as it always ends with a kiss… But the intensity cannot be broken otherwise. Cannot be relieved... Kisses are dangerous. Kisses are intimate. And Soundwave has no face, he cannot be kissed… Soundwave is an abomination. He should not exist…

Soundwave is weird. He is extremely smart but silent and withdrawn. He keeps to himself and he never speaks. He has tentacles that nobody has, and Megatron just does not even know what are his interfacing ports like. He has never seen them, he has never touched them... And nobody else has such inner glow as he has, rainbow-like biolight shining from the inside… Like if he were a fragging saint, like laws of nature did not concern him... He makes Megatron aroused just because he exists at all. But *this* cannot be said out loud, it cannot be mentioned, it shall never even be thought…

The sweet weakness, the hidden wish to be relieved with the hands and wings of his two commanding officers makes the warlord twist inside. He dreams of not having to decide, not having to be strong, not having to lead. Not having to plan, to dominate anyone, to do anything at all, just to be taken care of… just to give in to them. Both. Like a princess on a bed of crystals...

He stands there on the bridge, watching the night shift working. The communications officer is with them, tentacles drilled into the computers, long fingers dancing on the keyboards. Megatron follows their movement with awe and forgets to close his mouth for a few seconds too long. He steps closer and requests a progress report. The commbot displays his findings. But Megatron does not care. He couldn’t care less for the findings. He moves one more step closer instead and takes a deep vent inhaling Soundwave's smell. He leans over the communication officer’s shoulder rubbing against one of the tentacles with his waist. His arms itch to embrace Soundwave from behind, but the slenderbot steps aside allowing his boss to see the screen better. He has got no face expression, no face at all, no EM field, no nothing. Megatron comments something irrelevant and then retreats to the maze of Nemezis corridors leaving the bridge much too abruptly. He does not breathe out the smell of Soundwave from his vents until his system flashes him warnings of low nitrogen and oxygen levels. By then he is already at the door to Starscream’s quarters . The door rolls up and he steps in. With no useless explanation he pushes his deputy to the wall and releases the hardened spike.

“You stink of him” - Starscream spits out viciously but he obliges without further questions and bends low leaning his hands on the desk and retransforming his body for interfacing. And the wrestling begins, violent, quick, intense. Megatron cannot see Starscream’s face while the SIC grins oddly to himself as he moves his hips enticingly.

_You want too much Megatron. You are greedy. You’re lost in a matter of time and I will be there when it happens. Right behind your back..._

“Frag me until it hurts” - Starscream says instead and turns around abruptly drawing the warlord’s spike out of himself and pushing him onto the bed. Then he lands on his boss'es lap with both thighs squeezing the big mech’s legs from the sides, he takes him in again and forces a tender kiss on his lips.

 _Kisses are dangerous._  
_Kisses are intimate._  
_Kisses are soft and sweet._  
_Kisses create bonding._

_Kisses are for the weak._

There were supposed to be fields of crystal, rivers of clarity, houses of glass. Mines throbbing with energon, roads, factories, hospitals and universities. Life shared among everyone in abundance. Open borders. There was supposed to be a dream come true.

Liberty, equality, fraternity...


End file.
